


Into the Fog

by EliM (EliMiguel)



Category: Unfinished work - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Love, M/M, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-30
Updated: 2017-11-13
Packaged: 2019-01-26 19:37:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12564680
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EliMiguel/pseuds/EliM
Summary: While running for help, Esca runs into a fog and emerges in 21st century Scotland. How does he make it back in time to save Marcus from the Seal Warriors? Or will he?





	1. The Fog

**Author's Note:**

> I will be adding characters as the story unfolds.

Esca had no idea how it had happened, but it _had_ happened.

One minute he was promising Marcus that he'd return, then he was running for help, and the next minute he was standing in an open field.

Instead of a rainy morning, it was a bright sunny day. The rain had stopped as suddenly as it had begun and there wasn't a grey cloud to be had.

Esca spun around looking in every direction but nothing seemed familiar.

Familiar in the sense that, where seconds ago he’d been running over high grass and rocks, dodging trees both large and small, everything seemed to have been shorn away.

The grass was groomed, there were no rocks in sight, and the trees were few and far between. Esca blinked repeatedly, rubbing at his eyes roughly, as though that would make the unfamiliar scene before him disappear, and a more familiar one reappear.

Esca scratched his head breathing erratically; looking from this way to that. Almost at the point of hyperventilating. His heart beat wildly, he was beginning to feel lightheaded, and his eyes began to water.

It wasn’t that he was a coward; there was nothing Esca was afraid of, except the gods, of course. But his mind; his mind was another story. Esca couldn’t comprehend what had happened. Where he was, for he certainly was no longer anywhere close to where he’d been when he left Marcus’ side to run for help.

Wait!

Marcus!

Esca turned and ran back in the direction he’d come from.

And then he stopped.

His eyes widened in horror as he noted a rectangular brick dwelling of some kind; whatever it was, it wasn’t like anything he’d seen before. Roman buildings were different: larger, taller, square windows and wider doorways.

And it certainly wasn’t one of the tribal roundhouses, but Esca couldn’t care less what it was.

All he cared about what was figuring out where he was, getting help, and finding his way back to Marcus before the Seal warriors got to him first.

He began half walking, and half running, and the further he went, the more unfamiliar everything became; Esca was no longer certain what direction he’d come from.

How did he get back to Marcus?

Anxious, the Brigantes warrior shook his head and called out the Roman’s name… “Marcus!”

His voice echoed back in the silence. Esca looked around and was about to call out once again, when he remembered the Seal warriors. What if they heard him instead of Marcus? Remembering suddenly how far he’d run after leaving Marcus behind in the gorge, Esca realized neither the Seal warriors, nor Marcus were within hearing distance of his voice.

“Lugh, please help me!” Esca whispered a desperate plea to his god. “Help me get back to Marcus. I cannot leave him there to die, lord.”

Once again, Esca looked about trying to discern another direction he may have come through the fog. His blue-gray eyes focused on another area of the field and ran toward its edge where he came upon a white wooden fence that blocked the field from a narrow black path that extended toward his left, and his right, for as far as his eye could see.

Across from where Esca stood, he could see a similar white wooden fence and another large green field beyond it.

Esca stepped back and away from the fence looking around. He finally let himself fall to the ground, and holding his head in his hands, began to cry. “Gods, where am I?” He called out to his gods shaking from the anger arising within him from the helpless situation he found himself in.

“What place is this?” Esca called out again to no one in particular, no longer caring about being discovered by the Seal warriors, or anyone else, for that matter.

Perhaps it was best.

That way he and Marcus could die together.

It was certainly preferable to this.

A shivering Esca stood and grabbed his bow from the ground.

The Brigantes warrior frantically looked about to see if he saw anyone who might be able to tell him where he was and, or how to get back to Marcus.

But…. nothing.

The world seemed void of life.

Remembering the rectangular dwelling, Esca ran back in its direction. Upon reaching the red brick building, Esca readied his bow, and cautiously examined the grounds. There was a small vegetable garden in the back, with a large weeping willow in the center, and a raised wooden platform with patio furniture directly outside the kitchen door. Esca peeked inside the first-floor windows, and seeing no sign of life, moved toward the white narrow back door.

The Brigantes warrior looked at the brass doorknob unsure of what it was, lowered his bow, and reached for it.

At the exact moment… the door opened. Esca’s eyes narrowed hatefully at the figure that appeared: _“Placidus?”_

The man shook his head, “No, you must have the wrong house, mate.” The man went to shut the door, but Esca stopped it and pushed the door open far enough for him to enter.

Esca raised his bow and aimed it straight at the man’s face. _“You ARE Placidus! Do not play games with me, canem romanus!”_

Concerned for his own well-being, especially since the stranger seemed distraught, nervous, and disoriented, a dangerous combination; the man introduced himself. “My name isn’t Placidus… it’s Michael Gallagher and I haven’t the slightest who this Placidus is you’re looking for, mate. Sorry.”

Esca didn’t lower the bow from Michael’s face; if anything, he brought it closer, in case _‘Placidus’_ hadn’t gotten the hint that he wasn’t playing games.

Marcus’ life was at stake here, and although Esca knew the Legate’s assistant bore Marcus no great love, he also knew it wouldn’t fair well on the hopeful future senator’s reputation if he let a fellow Roman perish without moving a muscle to try and help.

“Listen… what exactly do you want from me? You’re at my front door, pointing that bloody thing in my face, looking like you’re a minute away from shooting that blasted arrow through my skull, and I haven’t a clue what the bloody fuck you want or who the fuck you are!”

 _“Marcus is in danger, sacci stercore! The Seal warriors are hunting us. I came for help… HELP ME! HELP HIM if not me!”_ Michael’s eyes widened suddenly understanding he was victim to a prank; and a damn good one too. This guy wasn’t even doing English, he was speaking straight Latin… and a pure sounding Latin, too. Nothing like what he’d learned at Reading. This guy’s parents had obviously spared no expense when it came to his education.

Michael couldn’t help himself anymore; he broke out laughing.

An infuriated Esca threw the bow to the floor and punched Michael straight in the face, throwing him to the floor. Esca straddled him, took his father’s dagger from his boot, and brought it up to Michael’s neck. _“I am serious, canem! Either you help me get back to Marcus, or I will spill your life onto this floor here and now. CHOOSE!”_

“What’s going on here?” A voice came from behind Esca, prompting him to stand while grabbing a fistful of Michael’s hair, and dragging him up to his knees; the point of the dagger digging into the Englishman’s neck.

A kindly looking older gentleman stood gaping at the scene, “What on earth is going on here? Who are you and what do you want with my nephew?”

 _“Stay where you are, old man, or I will open his throat from ear to ear!”_ Esca looked nervously from one man to the other.

 _“Who is he?”_ Esca asked Michael, pulling his head back, so that he could study Michael’s face as he answered the question.

“He is my uncle.” This time, Michael played along with Esca, answering his question in Latin.

_“What is he?”_

“What do you mean, what is he?”

 _“What rank does he hold?”_ Esca replied while tugging angrily at Michael’s hair.

“ _Can he help me? Is he a Legate of some kind, a general, ANYTHING, that can call together a cohort, or even a legion, to help save Marcus from the Seal warriors?”_

Michael was growing wary of that prank. His assailant was taking the character a bit too heart, and Michael didn’t like that his elderly uncle was being victimized, as well.

“Look…” Michael began, reverting back to English, “… don’t you think this has gone far enough? Why don’t you just got back to your uni brothers, tell them mission accomplished, and have a good laugh at our expense.” Esca nipped Michael’s neck with the tip of his dagger,

“ _What are you saying, irrumator?”_ The older man came a little closer, but was stopped by a deadly look from Esca.

“I want to help you," The old man spoke to Esca in Latin, _"but I cannot if you do not tell me who you are, where you come from, and who you’re looking for.”_

The old man, a retired Historian who’d taught at Oxford for more years than he should have, wondered if the young man could be delusional? If so, the situation had to be handled differently. The stranger had to be made to believe both the old man and Michael were on his side; that they were willing to help him in any way they could.

_“I am Esca Mac Cunoval, I am Brigantes, my father was lord of 500 Spears. I was taken and made a slave by the Romans when they invaded my father’s village, seven years ago. I am… I was the property of Marcus Flavius Aquila; your nephew here knows all of that. Two nights ago, we stole the eagle from the Seal People, and we have been running ever since. I left Marcus at the gorge. His old injury was reopened, and he can no longer walk. That is why I need your help.”_

The old man and Michael looked at each other sharing a similar unspoken thought: This guy is crazy!


	2. Return to the Gorge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Esca finally gets the help he needed to save Marcus from the Seal Warriors.

Esca looked from the old man back to Michael a few times as if trying to read the look passing between them; he thought he had and, so he spoke. _“Are you going to help me, or not? The longer we stand here, the more chance of the Seal warriors finding him… if.”_ And he stopped himself there as though the completion of that sentence, that thought, was too painful for him to fathom; never mind speak.

 _“What do you wish us to do?”_ Professor Tom asked Esca sounding concerned, for he truly was concerned; he was concerned for Michael as well as himself. After all, there was an armed man in their living room, and he was obviously desperate and desperate people can do anything. _“Tell us how we can help you and we will try our best.”_

“Uncle Tom… this bloke is mad… what we should be doing is calling the police!”

“And we’re going to do just that, but until we can, we must humor him. This young man seems as though he can become dangerous if pushed to the limit.”

“ _Can_ become? Have you noticed the predicament I’m in Uncle?” Michael pointed up toward Esca’s hands, which were still firmly attached to the kneeling man’s dark hair, with his eyes.

 _“ENOUGH OF THIS! Are you going to help me or NOT?”_ If the sound of Esca’s booming shout wasn’t enough to underline how serious he was, the indescribable look on his face drove the point home: anger, hate, frustration, and despair.

 _“Yes! We will help you, but you are going to have to release my nephew, otherwise I will not agree for us to help you.”_ Professor Tom asserted, but the small lithe blonde shook his head.

_“Where are your reinforcements, old man? I did not see a camp or fort nearby and you are going to need 20 men, if not more, to battle the Seal warriors.”_

_“If I call for help, where do I tell them to meet us?”_

“Meet us?” Esca shook his head while tugging Michael’s hair. _“It is not an easy path to take. They will not find us unless we travel together. It is not far from here for I was not running for very long.”_

_“Ah, yes, you mentioned a gorge!”_

“He must mean The Devil’s Pulpit!” The professor turned his eyes down to Michael.

 _“How quickly can you summon reinforcements, old man?”_ Esca demanded as he finally let go of Michael’s head with a push.

“And you did say this Marcus is injured, yes?”

_“Yes, but that shall not matter if we tarry and the Seal warriors find him first!”_

_“Yes!”_ Professor Tom turned again to Michael who was now standing, rubbing the top of his head. “Michael do you have your phone with you?” Michael nodded. “I’ve changed my mind. Go to the garage, so he sees you heading in that direction, call Ian and tell him to bring a handful of men and meet us at the Devil’s Pulpit.” Michael nodded and went toward the door, but Esca grabbed his arm and held him in place.

_“Where is he going, old man?”_

“For reinforcements. Is that not what you are asking us for?”

_“YES, but WE are wasting time! Tell him to fetch three of your fastest horses and let us be gone!”_

_“The gorge is not an easy place to rescue an injured man, my friend. We are going to need medical equipment, AS WELL as reinforcements.”_

This time Esca didn’t argue.

He nodded solemnly and without a word.

My friend.

Marcus had called him that: his friend.

Just before Esca had left to go in search of help, Marcus had given him his freedom; he’d returned his father’s dagger to Esca, and had referred to him as his friend. He’d given Esca the choice of life over death; he could choose to return, if he found help, or run as far away toward safety as he could possibly run, if he didn’t. Marcus had seen the man for what he was. He’d understood the motive behind Esca’s temporary shift in loyalty. Marcus had seen Esca for what he truly was: his friend.

Professor Tom noticed the moisture welling in Esca’s eyes as he stood frozen; lost in thought.

“Michael, tell Ian a crime may have been committed at Devil’s Pulpit, and to send medical personnel, as well… in case there’s someone truly injured there. I will text John. Oh… and ask the Millers if we can use three of their horses.”

“But Uncle…” Michael began before being interrupted by his uncle.

“Please, Michael… do as I say. If my instinct serves me, this man is no criminal. It may be as simple as his having gotten off his medications. Now go!”

Michael opened the door and walked out as quickly as he could; using Esca’s momentary lapse in focus to his advantage; running to the garage, Michael pulled out his phone, and called Ian MacGregor: Drymen’s Chief of Police.

Finally focused in the present, Esca locked eyes with the professor, but didn’t say a word. If the young man was delusional, the older man thought, it was through no fault of his own; as mental illness goes, but he highly doubted a criminal stood before him.

There was, of course, the chance his delusion was drug induced, although there was nothing about him that spoke of rampant drug use; and Professor Tom had seen more than his fair share of youth fallen to that dastardly addiction to know the difference.

The professor came to a decision. _“I must relieve myself.”_ He said to Esca who nodded with a stipulation.

_“Do so quickly. We must away as soon as your nephew arrives with the reinforcements.”_

The professor didn’t go to the bathroom to relieve himself, but to send a text to a psychologist who he’d befriended during his early years at Oxford: "John, I need you to meet Michael and I at Devil’s Pulpit. You will understand why when you get there. Tom."

Michael returned a few minutes later minus the reinforcements he’d gone in search of and Esca grabbed him by the throat.

_“Where are the reinforcements, canem romanus?”_

“They will meet us at the Dev… I mean, the gorge.” Michael answered while keeping as still as he possibly could.

Esca let him go the moment he saw two teen age boys walking three Friesians in the direction of the house.

The former slave sighed deeply: relief.

 _I will be there presently, my friend._ Esca thought to himself as he watched Michael run to meet the boys and accept the horses from them. _May your gods and mine permit I find you safe and alive._

“I see the horses have arrived.” Professor Tom commented as he drew near to Esca.

_“Yes, old man. The reinforcements will meet us at the gorge.”_

The professor nodded and offered Esca an uncomfortable smile. _“Then let us go.”_

Tom wasn’t at all relaxed with having to travel to the gorge with the stranger, but the sooner they got it over with, the better.

Either Esca would realize his friend wasn’t there -therefore, in no danger of any kind, or he'd prevent a tragedy, or they’d get the injured man the help he was needing.

As they rode, Michael let his horse gallop beside his uncle; he jerked his chin toward Esca, who was riding confidently ahead. “Did you get a load of the costume he’s wearing Uncle?”

Tom nodded without amusement. “Nothing strange in that. He’s dressed as a Robin Hood, but what I find interesting is the fact that he’ll only speak to us in Latin.”

“And the fact he thinks we’re Roman officials in command of cohorts and legions, is no never mind to you?"

“That there are serious mental issues with this young man is, of course, obvious. I asked John to meet us at Devil’s Pulpit. I hope he gets there in time.”

As they arrived at the mouth of the Pulpit, Esca pulled his horse to a halt, dismounted, and motioned for Michael and Tom to do the same.

 _“Your weapons?”_ Esca asked looking at their belts and then at the saddles to see if he saw any signs of swords or other weaponry.

Michael and Tom looked at each other and then back at Esca.

 _“Our weapons are the men coming.”_ Tom answered before noting Michael had pulled the 35 Special revolver he’d inherited from his father, out of his pants pocket. The professor figured his nephew had gotten out of the glove compartment in his car where he kept it locked for safety’s sake.

 _“And what is that, canem?”_ Esca almost laughed at the sight of the small revolver in Michael’s hand. _“Do you expect to throw that at one of them?”_

Michael didn’t answer, and Tom could see his nephew would be more than happy to show Esca the damage the revolver was capable of, first hand; but his uncle’s look, and slight shake of his head, stopped the younger man’s hand.

“Tom! Michael! Are you both alright?” A voice was heard to ask before John came into view.

Esca looked at the newly arrived stranger with great curiosity and then at Michael.

“ _THIS is the reinforcements you called to help save Marcus?”_ The Brigantes warrior ran toward Michael and it was obvious Esca had every intention of beating him to a bloody pulp, but was stopped in his tracks when Michael pointed the revolver toward a tree branch and pulled the trigger.

Esca jumped; eyes wide with terror. Never had he heard a sound so deafening. He slowly moved his eyes away from the revolver in Michael’s hand and looked at the slender branch the bullet had torn off the tree.

Slowly he backed away from the three of them and then stopped. _“Are you gods of some kind? Roman gods?”_ Esca barely managed to speak; looking at each man individually with both respect and fear.

 _“We are not gods, my friend. We are men, no different than you.”_ Professor Tom clarified speaking slowly as if to drive the point home for Esca looked almost disoriented.

_“I, nor no man, can do that!”_

_“Neither could he had he not had that weapon in his hand.”_ John, the Professor of Psychology, answered in Latin.

Just then a handful of police men joined the group. “Whit’s gaun oan ‘ere John, Tom?” The Chief asked as he kept his eyes on Esca’s frozen form, and his hand over his holster.

“This young man’s friend is either injured, or dead, within the Pulpit, Ian.” Tom answered his friend.

“Injured or deid, eh?” The Chief turned to Esca and asked for the story, but Tom stopped him in mid-sentence, explaining that he wouldn’t be getting the information he wished unless he asked for it in Latin.

Chief MacGregor smirked and shook his head. “Weel sinceci dinnae ken enough latin tae save mah ain soul, ah jalousie we better let ye tell us whit th’ hell is this laddie talking aboot?"

“It seems he, and his friend, Marcus, stole something from some gang and they’re being pursued by them.”

“Gang? Whit gang? Ah wasn’t aware we hud ony gangs in Drymen.” Chief MacGregor kept his eyes locked on Esca all the while.

“Well, Chief MacGregor, it seems we do, and they’re supposedly chasing this psycho and his friend!”

 _“Who are these men?”_ Esca barked angrily at Michael, who pretended not to hear him. Michael was tired of Esca’s games.

Esca too was tired of wasting time, so he turned and ran into the gorge by himself.

 _“Marcus! Marcus!”_ He called out, but only the echo of his voice returned.

The men ran in behind him.

_“I am too late! The Seal warriors have him!”_

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I’d love to hear what you think, so please don't hesitate to share your thoughts.


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